


I Did Good This Time

by deandoesthingstome



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Fingerfucking, NSFW, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 09:16:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5122772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deandoesthingstome/pseuds/deandoesthingstome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries his hand at baking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Did Good This Time

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first writing from a prompt from @balthazars-muse and, man, was it fun! Dean’s Flavor of the Month - I pulled Sagittarius.
> 
> First of all, because we all know everything on the interwebs is true, Sagittarian women do best with those that are fire signs and air signs, of which Dean (Aquarius) is one.
> 
> A woman born under the Sign Sagittarius is truthful, idealistic, and has a great sense of humor. She likes men's wear, so you might catch her putting on your button-down shirt with not much else on but a smile. She often does better with a strong willed and independent partner, rather than one who is too needy or possessive.
> 
> However, they are not very careful about how their actions or speech may affect others. They always speak the truth, even if it hurts.

“This pie sucks,” you spoke through the forkful of dessert you had just shoveled in your mouth.

“Wow, don’t sugarcoat it sweetheart,” Dean looked crestfallen.

“Dude, I’m sorry. You are a great cook, you know. Your burgers are the best and I know you could make kale edible if you tried hard enough. But I don’t think baking is your strong suit.”

Dean had been experimenting in the kitchen for weeks.

He tried a batch of chocolate chip cookies and burnt the bottoms. This could have been your fault. You’d distracted him when you waltzed in wearing only his plaid button-up and reached up to the top shelf for a glass. He couldn’t resist grabbing a handful of your ass as the shirt rode up and you couldn’t help but leave the glass on the shelf, turn and plant a passionate kiss against his perfect lips. Not one to rebuff an advance, you spread your legs just a little bit wider to give space to his adept fingers snaking in through your soft folds. As his tongue caressed the inside of your mouth sending shivers down your spine, two fingers pumped expertly deep inside your trembling core, curling to find the spot to quicken your heartbeat. The buzzer had been ringing for several minutes by the time he coaxed the heat from you.

He tried homemade chocolate pudding. The blame for this one could lay with Sammy. The two had been pranking each other for weeks. There was no way Dean could have known Sam had crossed a serious line and switched the sugar and salt canisters. Dean ripped him a new one, yelling about ghosts not having a problem passing through sugar and what if they’d needed to grab emergency supplies from the kitchen before a hunt, huh?

When he made whipped cream for the strawberry shortcake, he forgot the sugar altogether. It wasn’t the end of the world, but no one finished dessert that night either.

“So what’s wrong with it this time? Bananas too ripe? Meringue not stiff enough?”

“That’s what she said,” you quipped, chuckling at your own joke and waiting for Dean to join in the laughter. But he didn’t. He was serious as hell about this pie.

You took a deep breath and silently cursed yourself. You were always quick to open your mouth and stick your foot right in. You tried to reign it in on investigations, so as not to offend the people you were interrogating with the boys. But in the privacy of home, be it a dingy motel room or the creature comforts of the bunker, you had exactly zero filter.

“Dean, sugar…”

“It needed more sugar??? I used a cup and a half!”

“No, Dean…”

“Less? Shit I knew I shouldn’t have fudged the amount. Always follow the recipe. Always measure, re-measure if you have to. I should know this by now.”

“Dean!”

His head snapped in your direction as he was shaken out of whatever baking-fantasy land he’d been wandering just then.

“Honey, I was just saying ‘sugar’ as endearment. I think the amount was fine. It’s just….” Shit, how to explain?

“What, Y/N? What the hell was wrong with the pie?”

“Dean, what made you choose banana cream for your first attempt at pie? I’ve made you dozens of pies. Apple, pecan, pumpkin, chocolate, key lime…”

“Right, and I wanted to surprise you with something different.”

You took a few seconds to compose your next thoughts, not eager to sting him again.

“Dean, I’m not trying to be a dick, but have you ever wondered why I never made you banana cream?”

A look of confusion rolled across his freckled face, but then he considered a second longer. “Y/N, pie is pie. How can you not like banana cream pie?”

“I don’t know, Dean. If it’s even possible I think it’s too sweet.”

“I knew there was too much sugar!”

“No, not your pie, Dean, just the type of pie it is in general. It’s got no bite to it. And if a pie is going to be mushy, I’d rather taste chocolate or some tang. Bananas belong in bread.”

“Gah, dammit! I wanted this to be so good for you.”

“You know what’s good for me?” you purred, reaching up to caress his stubbly cheek. He remained stoic, so upset with himself for ruining dessert again. This was not going to be easy. You backed off gently, tracing a finger down his chest. “Dean? Let me take your mind off it.” You hooked your fingers into his waistband, gently urging him towards you, then loosened his belt and popped the button on his jeans.

“Y/N, don’t.”

“Shhh,” you placed a finger to his lips. “Just relax, baby. You need to relax. You’re so tense. All over some silly little pie.”

Dean grabbed your wrists suddenly and held them tight against your hips, giving you a determined look before crashing lips against yours and edging you even further back against the kitchen table. He lifted you swiftly to a seated position, then tucked in close between your legs.

“Some silly little pie, Y/N? Do you even know who you are talking to?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” you drawled slowly, wresting your arms from his grip and easing back. You were so hot for this man who could go from 0 to 60 in about .5 seconds. In a few moments you knew you’d have what you wanted because if there was one thing that could take Dean’s mind off a kitchen mishap it was your legs wrapped tight around him. You slowly unbuttoned your shirt, then dropped your hands to the table to shift up so he could pull your sweatpants down. “I know exactly who I’m talking to.”

He smirked at you before leaning in for another deep kiss, slipping his tongue inside your mouth, tasting the remnants of pie filling.

“Mmmph, so good,” he moaned, ghosting his lips back across your own before kneeling on the kitchen floor. He pulled your hips forward slightly as you lifted your legs over his shoulders, smile planted on your face in anticipation of what was to come.

“Yeah, darling, why don’t you try that pie instead?”

Dean didn’t wait for you to ask twice. He wrapped his arms around your thighs to hold you steady and dove in, widening his tongue and licking a thick stripe through your already soaking folds. He started off hot and heavy, but in short order slowed it down and began nipping gently at your inner thighs.

You groaned in desperation and felt the air of his gentle chuckle against your sensitive skin. “Don’t be greedy, Y/N.”

“Dean,” you whined. “Please, don’t tease.”

“I’m gonna take care of you sweetheart, don’t you worry.” Dean traced his tongue along the crook of your thigh, pressing his lips firmly into the sensitive spot. One hand loosened itself from your thigh and traced a gentle line behind your leg before setting fingers off on a tentative reconnaissance mission. You bucked forward ever so slightly, eager to draw him in. His tongue traveled back to your clit, flicking lightly and you could barely concentrate anymore on the fingers winding their way inside you.

Dean pushed two digits slowly inside your aching core and allowed his thumb to join the party his tongue was putting on for your sensitive nub. You shuffled your fingers through his hair and tried to pull him closer, tried to get him to speed up the process, but he was hell bent on making you beg for it. He teased you mercilessly, increasing the speed of his hand ever so slightly, making you believe he was going to give you what you needed soon, only to slow it down when he heard the sweet moans of pleasure escape your lips.

“Dean, god dammit, if you don’t get in there and make me cum right now, I swear to God I’m tossing this pie on the floor!”

“Blasphemy!” he chided, but also took the hint. Finally you felt those long fingers curl deep inside you, hitting spot on where they had only skimmed before. He latched back on to your clit, lips forming a seal, tongue flicking feverishly. You felt familiar heat rising and pressure building. You knew you were close and you also knew Dean liked to play games, so you wrapped your legs tight around his neck to keep him firmly in place.

Your actions spurred him on. If it was even possible for his tongue to dart faster, fingers to curl tighter and stroke deeper, well shit, that was happening. When you finally exploded, tightening around his fingers and dampening his hand with your juices, “Fuck” and “Dean” made their way out of your mouth, as well.

Dean stayed put for several moments, lapping up what he could and coaxing you through the full wave. Plus you hadn’t unwrapped your legs, so it wasn’t like he was going anywhere. He finally tapped your thigh, a signal to let him free, so you loosened your grip as he gently ducked out from under your legs and helped you to your feet.

You reached down and pulled him to his feet as well, locking lips with him on the way up, tasting yourself on his lips.

“Feel better?” you asked.

“Do you?”

“Honey, I always feel better after you make me cum. But are you a little calmer now about that pie?”

“Lemme just try it,” he said as he grabbed the fork and took a big bite straight from the dish. The look on his face said it all. “I don’t get you, Y/N. This is good! I did good this time.”

“Fuck yeah, you did.”


End file.
